She sat up and wrapped it around her, peering through the darkness to get her bearings in the unfamiliar bedroom.
She felt her way to the door and walked a few feet down the narrow corridor to the bedroom where Joe slept. The woodstove cast a golden glow over the room as well as warmth, lighting the path to the bed where Joe lay. She crossed to the bed, gazing down at his sleeping form. She’d double-dosed him with ibuprofen before bed, knowing he’d need as much rest as possible before they hit the road in the morning.
Now, she knew where to go next. Reno, Nevada.
But this time, she was going alone.
A NOISE STIRRED Joe into consciousness. He lay still, listening for a repeat of whatever had jarred him awake, but he heard only the soft hiss and crackle of the fire in the woodstove.
He was about to drift off to sleep again when he heard a soft, scraping noise from the front of the cabin. Instantly alert, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the ache in his side, and pushed to his feet. He left his boots behind, opting for stealth, and grabbed his Colt from the bedside table.
As he stepped into the hallway, he heard the clink of metal on metal-keys rattling, he realized. He crept forward into the darkened great room and saw the front door swing open and a small, thin silhouette start to ease its way through the narrow opening.
He slipped up behind her, catching the door as she started to swing it shut.
Jane whirled around, her face a pale oval in the dim moonlight. Her wide eyes gazed back at him with a mixture of relief and guilt.
“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked, closing his hand over hers and retrieving his keys from her trembling fingers. “Don’t give me any bull about looking for firewood this time.”
“Reno,” she said, defeat in her voice.
He took a step back, surprised by her answer. “Reno?”
“I had a memory. A dream, really, but I think it was a memory.” She leaned against the door frame, her gaze turned toward the truck sitting parked just a few feet from the porch. A distant look came over her moonlit profile. “I was in Reno. Someone will know me in Reno.”
He leaned against the opposite side of the door frame, studying her face, trying to figure out what was the truth and what was just another lie. “So you were going to sneak out of here, steal my truck and leave me up here alone?”
She looked down at her feet. “I was going to call Chief Trent to tell him where to find you.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
She looked up at him. “No.”
“I would have gone with you to Reno.”
“I know you would,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her half smile looked painful. “I know.”
“Then explain it,” he said, his voice deepening with frustration. He wanted to reach out and shake her, to make her remember everything he needed to know, to make her tell him the truth-the whole truth this time-so he could be rid of her for good. Out of his life, out of his mind, out of his-
What? His heart? He tamped down that idea with brutal force, refusing to dredge up that particular part of their past. Those feelings were dead and buried alongside his brother Tommy. All he had left inside him now was a gnawing hunger for answers.
“I don’t know if I can explain-” Jane’s words cut off abruptly, and her brow furrowed as she stared into the woods behind him. He turned, following her gaze, and saw what had caught her attention.
Car lights, moving slowly up the winding gravel road toward the cabin.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
He watched for a second to make sure the lights were actually coming toward them. “How much traffic does this area usually see at this time of year?”
“Angie said not a lot. There aren’t any cabins between here and the road, and none beyond here.” Her voice sounded small and scared, catching him by surprise. To this point, she’d been tough as rawhide, taking on everything thrown at her with pluck and grit. He turned to look at her in the pale glow of moonlight. She looked tiny. Fragile.
The way she’d looked the first day he met her.
He knew better, now. He knew there were more layers to her than just the wounded bird who needed a little tenderness and patience to thrive.
But God help him, she could still get to him in spite of everything.
He touched her cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”
She put her hand over his. “What are we going to do?”
He pulled her inside the cabin and shut the door, locking it behind them. The flood of adrenaline coursing through his veins started to clear the cobwebs from his sleepy brain. “We have a few minutes. I need you to go to your room, put on extra clothing. Grab anything we can carry on us-matches, snack bars, whatever. I don’t know if we’re going to have to make a run for it without the truck, but we better be prepared. Got it?”
She nodded and hurried off to the bedroom.
He crossed to the window and moved the curtains aside, peering out at the lights moving closer, and prayed those headlights belonged to a tourist who’d taken a wrong turn.
JANE RETURNED to the great room to find Joe shrugging on his heavy suede jacket. He’d already put on his shirt and boots. She didn’t see his gun anywhere, but she knew it had to be within reach.
Outside, the low growl of the car engine continued its inexorable approach. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” she murmured. “For calling Doris.”
“We don’t know that,” he answered, even though she could tell he thought she was right. He didn’t seem angry about it, though.
The sound of the engine grew louder, then suddenly died. Jane met Joe’s gaze, her heart pounding.
The knock on the door made her whole body jerk.
“Shh,” he murmured.
“Maybe if we don’t answer they’ll go away.”
“I don’t think so,” he whispered. “That doesn’t sound like a tourist.”
The next knock proved him right. “Smith County Sheriff’s Department!”
Jane tried to calm her racing heart.
Joe looked at her. “Two tourists, vacationing in the mountains,” he whispered. “That’s all we are.”
“Why don’t you flash your badge and tell ’em to butt out of your investigation?”
He grinned a little at that. “That’ll be plan B.” He flicked on the light and crossed to the door as their visitors knocked a third time.
He opened the door a crack. “What is it?”
“Smith County Sheriff’s Department. May we come in?”
“Can I see your identification?” Joe asked.
Jane heard a rustle of movement and caught a flash of metal in the narrow opening of the doorway.
Joe looked the badges over carefully for a moment, then stepped back. “How can I help you?”
Two deputies in tan uniforms stepped inside the cabin. The taller of the two tipped his hat at Jane. “I’m Deputy Lowell. This is Deputy Garland.”
A nervous bubble of laughter caught in Jane’s throat at the polite introduction, so at odds with the terrified tension that had her wrapped up in knots.
“We’ve had a citizen issue a complaint against a Mrs. Sarah Holbrook, and he told us we could find her here.” Garland, the shorter deputy, looked pointedly at Jane.
“I don’t know any Sarah Holbrook,” she blurted.
“Neither do I,” Joe agreed. “What sort of complaint?”
“Armed robbery. He said Mrs. Holbrook pulled a knife on him and stole his car and several thousand dollars in cash.” Garland took a step toward Jane. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Jane,” she answered.
“Last name?”
